by David Cook
As his first mate descended, Luciar strolled to the aft railing. Teldin remained. “Young man, do you understand what you have done?” the ancient elf asked grimly.
“Stowed away, sir,” was the human’s answer, meekly said in spite of his determination. The captain’s imperious manner chilled the farmer’s spirit. Teldin was not proud of his act, since he knew it was little more than thievery.
“I am bound by the customs of the Silvamori to welcome any soul who sets foot on my ship, provided he draws no blade against me,” Luciar tersely explained. “That is why I would not let you aboard yesterday. Now I am stuck with you it would seem. Cwelanas would let tradition hang and throw you overboard.” The captain shook his head sadly at the thought. Teldin’s hopes brightened. Perhaps his luck was beginning to change. After all, he deserved a break in his fortunes, the farmer reasoned.
“This I will not allow,” the old elf captain continued, “but I will not allow you to steal free passage aboard my ship, either! You and your – thing – will work among the crew. Cwelanas is my first mate, and she will give you orders. You must do as she says.” The elf let a faint smile cross his lips. “I imagine you will regret stowing aboard long before we reach land.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Teldin said, somewhat crestfallen. Easy passage had been a vain hope, more than he had a right to expect. “Gomja and I will manage.” Even as he claimed so, Teldin was far from sure. He certainly knew the voyage would be anything but dull.
“Teldin Moore, report to Cwelanas for your duties.”
Chapter Fourteen
Teldin leaned against the bowsprit and gazed longingly at the distant land. The queasiness of his first night at sea had passed, but Teldin found sea-going life more difficult than he had expected. He was used to the open spaces of a farm; the ship was small and confining, even when he was on the main deck. Teldin was constantly and nervously aware of the limits of his fragile new home. It did not help to be constantly reminded of his ignorance about things nautical. Gomja at least, from his flying ships, had something of an advantage over Teldin in this.
Still, he was trying to learn quickly and had so far mastered some of the basics of sailing. Fortunately, Teldin was a quick study. He had always had the knack for picking up skills in a short time – farming, hunting, mule-skinning, army life, and now, apparently, sailing. Teldin fully expected to have a good understanding of the principles by the time the ship reached Sancrist. He certainly was getting enough work at it. By this, his second, morning aboard, Teldin was no longer looking about stupidly when Cwelanas ordered the crew onto the ratlines, the ladderlike ropes that ran from the top of the mast to the gun-wales – another new term he had learned. Indeed, Teldin was getting adept at watching the rest of the crew for clues as to just what Cwelanas’s orders meant, since her words were so full of nautical lingo.
With a tired sigh, Teldin leaned against the railing and gazed out over the water. To either side-port and starboard, he had learned from Gomja – were still – dark shapes of craggy peaks. Galwylin, one of the more out-going members of the elven crew, said they were the Gates of Paladine that marked the mouth of the Bay of Branchala. Beyond the cliffs was open sea. Sometime today the Silver Spray would pass beyond those mountainous walls and leave the shelter of land behind.
At Teldin’s back, the morning sun was slowly changing from the first orange-red of dawn to the rich yellow fire of the day. Although he had been awake for several hours, this was the first moment he had gained from Cwelanas for anything more than just working, only because there was finally nothing that needed doing.
“She’s determined to get every ounce of sweat out me, Teldin reflected, talking to the fish that shot by the bow in silver streaks. “Teach me to stow away. Wouldn’t recommend it.” The fish ignored his advice and plunged beneath an oncoming wave crest, their shining fins disappearing into the murky blue ocean.
Leaning out over the carved wave figurehead, Teldin let his thoughts wander to Cwelanas, comparing her to the young women he’d known back home. She was alluring despite – or perhaps because of – her fierce and proud demeanor. The elf maiden’s graceful form, exotic ferocity, even her fiery personality, Teldin allowed, this time not talking aloud to himself, attracted him – more than any of the local girls he had met. Watching the waves, he remembered Grandfather describing elves that the old man had seen. “How they look, it’s a way they cast a charm on your eye,” the patriarch had said. ‘Fair is not enough to describe them. They’ll make your heart pain.” Teldin had wondered at the time Just what his grandfather meant; now he felt he knew.
Teldin’s thoughts were interrupted by Gomja’s heavyfalling tread behind him. The foredeck’s creaking boards could herald only the giff’s approach, for there was no one else on board larger than Teldin. At a little over six feet tall, Teldin towered over the smaller, lighter elves. “Bare Tree” was the nickname they gave him, descriptive of his long, lean frame. Gomja they nicknamed “Boardbreaker.”
“You look troubled, sir,” Gomja commented as he joined the human. There was barely space for the two of them on the bow, so Teldin slid to the side, giving the giff some space along the jutting bowsprit.
Teldin was amused by the giffs interpretation of his mood. “Cwelanas’s doing, Gomja, that’s all. Wonder what else she’ll have us do today.” Teldin turned away from the breaking waves; his stomach was starting to roil and he was only now getting accustomed to the rolling of the ship.
“Sir I took the liberty of approaching the mate,” Gomja admitted somewhat guiltily, “and requested some time for you and I to drill – an hour or two a day.” Teldin shot the giff a curious look. Gomja continued hurriedly, “In Palanthas you said you wanted instruction in fighting. Now is a good time.”
Teldin looked at the giff with a tinge of mild suspicion. “Did I really say that?”
“Most assuredly, sir. I explained to the mate that it was to keep my skills up. We should practice. There may be neogi at Mount Nevermind.” Teldin blanched slightly at the mention of the creatures, but Gomja did not seem to notice the look. Instead the giff drew a sword, one of several that now hung at the muscular creature’s side or were thrust into his sash, and offered it to Teldin. Somehow, Gomja had been collecting weapons, until now he looked like a veritable sword dealer.
Teldin took the blade offered. It was surprisingly light and carefully balanced, far better than the heavy sword he had been using. Teldin made a few grandiose swipes through the air, trying to test the feel of the sword even though he had no idea what made one sword superior to another. Even though it was light to his grip, the blade swung heavier than he had expected. The farmer hauled back for another wild backswing, then stumbled off balance and teetered toward the rail. Spray from the bow splashed against his cheek as he caught a glimpse of the water slipping by below.
His perilous careen was abruptly halted as the giff lunged out and seized Teldin’s shirt. Gomja hauled the human to safety with ease.
“Excuse me, sir,” Gomja said politely once Teldin had regained his composure, “but I think it might be better if we started with a different weapon. Swords take more training than we have time for, I think.” The giff studied Teldin’s frame, briefly assessing the man’s potential. “You are familiar with staffs, sir?” he finally asked.
“From the farm, yes.”
“Well, I think a spear would be best then,” Gomja suggested. “That way we can work from what you already know. And a spear is a good weapon. Wait here, sir.” The giff headed aft and returned a short time later with a stout, metal-headed shaft. Teldin took it with both hands, this time more carefully checking the weapon’s balance.
So began the first lesson. Teldin felt like a child as Gomja taught the most basic maneuvers. For an hour Teldin lunged at shadows, thrust at air, and blocked to the calls of seagulls. Gomja took his role as instructor seriously, demonstrating, correcting, scolding, and praising. By the end of the lesson, Teldin was in a fine lather of sweat. “
Cwelanas put you up to this, didn’t she?” Teldin panted as he collapsed on the deck.
“She did say she wanted the lessons to be useful, sir.” It was as close to an admission as Teldin was going to get. Looking out over the waves, the human did not notice the giffs conspiratorial grin.
The day wore on in uneventful doldrums, as did the following day and the day after that. Each day Cwelanas gave the landlubber a list of tasks, most fairly simple but backbreaking, to be completed before the evening meal, then she joined Luciar on the afterdeck. As Teldin worked, coiling rope, sewing sails, or whatever, he found he kept watching the elf maiden, watching her watch the crew at its tasks. The way she commanded the others and saw to the ship’s business, Teldin could almost forget her long, pale hair and slender figure – almost, but not quite. Then, embarrassed by what he was doing, he quickly looked away. Late one day, he caught her watching him. Their eyes met for an instant, then Cwelanas broke the spell, her eyes flashing with rage, though her face flushed a delicate shade of red.
The voyage fell into a pattern that wore on Teldin. In the morning was Gomja’s fencing lesson, then work for the rest of the day. His progress in nautical matters and close combat was rapid, though the human was still far from being either a captain or a duelist. On some days Cwelanas worked him hard; on others she barely assigned him any tasks. Teldin quickly discovered there was no predicting the elf mate’s moods, which, in a peculiar way, reminded Teldin of his father, before the youth had run off to fight in the war. Cwelanas was as difficult and hard to deal with as Amdar had seemed back then. The only difference was that, instead of lashing back in fiery but futile battles, Teldin quietly kept his peace.
With each evening came the bland and monotonous meal the galley cook prepared, usually boiled beans and herbs. Once or twice there was fish, but on the sea’s deep water the catch was small, and most of it went to the captain’s table. Teldin decided the Silvamori might be brilliant artisans, but their cooking left much to be desired. The farmer longed for the spicy pork sausages of home or even the fiery fish stews of Kalaman. Dinner was followed by sleep. Teldin’s ignorance of ships at least spared him the night watch, since Cwelanas did not trust the human when she was not on deck.
Conversely, Gomja’s spirits rose as the voyage continued, for the giff was far more comfortable on board. It was at least a ship, similar in that respect to the wrecked Penumbra. The elves, struck by his alienness and the sorrowful tale of Gomja’s creation at the hands of the Dark Queen, gave the “big heathen” greater latitude. His plight appealed to their romantic sense of melancholy, though Gomja’s great size also accounted for part of their awe. The slender ratlines of the shrouds, the rope ladders to the mastheads, were far too fragile for his weight, which kept him from working the yardarms.
At most, Gomja could haul on lines to trim the sails, but the elves quickly discovered the giff could handily do the work of several of them, freeing their hands for other tasks. When needed, Gomja laid into the ropes, lustily bellowing what Teldin could only assume were chanteys of the spelljammers, the sailors who, according to Gomja, plied the seas of space. At the end of the day, the giff cheerfully devoured the same meals that made Teldin dream of crisply seared roasts and thick stews.
After three days, the ship left sight of land and beat a westerly path, struggling against the ocean currents. The breeze was often against the small caravel, forcing the captain to tack back and forth rather than sail a direct route. Teldin and Gomja kept at their dueling, the human driven to improve by his memories of the neogi and his feelings of helplessness during the battle with Vandoorm. Gomja was pleased with the speed of Teldin’s training.
On the fourth day, Teldin could not help noticing a current of tension among the rest of the crew, particularly in the eyes of Luciar and Cwelanas. The human could see no obvious reason why anyone should be worried; things on board were otherwise no different than the day before, and he doubted there was any danger of depleting their provisions. Finally, while he was high above the deck, hanging in the yards and struggling with the brails, the small lines that lashed up the forecourse sail, Teldin looked back over his shoulder to see Cwelanas and Luciar in conference on the afterdeck.
Teldin clutched at the yard to keep from falling, then turned to Galwylin, who was beside him, providing the day’s lesson in the proper way to furl a sail. Galwylin was one of the few elves who seemed to have any patience with the yeoman’s clumsy landlubber ways. “Wise Galwylin,” Teldin asked while struggling to keep his balance over the yard, “what do you suppose they’re discussing?”
The weatherworn elf cast a casual glance aft. “Something has the captain worried, Bare Tree,” he laconically replied.
“But what?”
“He does not tell the rest of us. If it is important, he will tell us. If he does not, then it is not important. Trust him.” The elf gave a fatalistic shrug and returned to work.
Teldin shook his head. “I can’t. I nearly got killed once already, trusting someone I thought was a friend. I can’t afford the risk anymore.” He looked back to where Cwelanas and Luciar stood.
A tug at his arm reminded the human why he was hanging in space over the deck. “Then more is the pity for you, Bare Tree,” Galwylin said sadly. While Teldin struggled to keep his feet on the ropes, the elf continued the lesson.
When the work was finished, Teldin gratefully clambered down the shrouds. “Now’s the time,” he decided, intent not to let his trust be betrayed once more. With a resolute stride, he made his way aft to learn from Luciar just what was going on, only to have Cwelanas block his path at the afterdeck stair.
“Where are you going, human?” Her face was grim.
“I want to see Luciar,” Teldin replied with polite firmness. He carefully kept his distrust suppressed. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Cwelanas didn’t move. “Captain Luciar has retired to his cabin. He does not want to see you and he has nothing to tell you. Go help Galwylin splice line – Bare Tree.” From her tips, his nickname sounded like an insult.
The farmer did not let her gibe get to him. “Captain Luciar can’t speak for himself? Let’s ask him and see what he says,” Teldin insisted. His gaze locked with Cwelanas’s. He suddenly felt the heart pain again, which Grandfather had described, from something deep in her eyes. Given her attitude toward him, the pain he felt only made Teldin more sarcastic.
“He will not see you,” she said more fiercely, though she was unable to take her gaze from him.
“Or is it that you don’t want me to see him? You’re afraid he might like me – a human,” Teldin blurted. “That would just ruin your day, wouldn’t it?” Even as he spoke, the farmer knew the words were a big mistake.
For a moment, Teldin thought Cwelanas was going to relent. Her hard gaze softened and her pale cheeks flushed with pink. Then, just as suddenly, her old temper returned. “Get back to work, human!” she spat, her finger pointing toward the rest of the crew. “Do as Galwylin tells you.”
Teldin could feel his temper rising. Rather than push it over the limit, the yeoman bit his lip and strode back toward the bow. After a few long strides, he vented his rage in a low, fierce mumble. “Damned proud —”
“Human!” Cwelanas angrily called out. “Did you think I would not hear you?” She came down the stairs and walked up behind Teldin. The whole plan was turning into a disaster, but if Cwelanas was going to be so stiff-necked about it, Teldin was damned well not going to apologize to her. He clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from doing anything else stupid, then slowly ruined to face her.
Cwelanas continued her tirade. “Ever since you appeared at our ship, you have been nothing but trouble. When you could not buy your way on, you stole on board. Now, because of some moldering old laws, we’re forced to take you to Sancrist!” Cwelanas was shouting, her voice choked with rage. “You eat our food, you demand to see the captain, and now – now you suggest that I – I – Ohh! I will not be so insulted!” Her han
d went to the sword at her side, and before Teldin could say a word in defense, the blade of her silvery cutlass flashed in the sunlight. She lunged blindly forward, but Teldin instinctively threw himself to the side.
“Now wait a —” Teldin tried to say, suddenly very aware that their argument had gotten out of control, but already Cwelanas had recovered and held her sword raised, intent on hewing him. Instead of backpedaling, Teldin remembered one of Gomja’s lessons — “Do the unexpected.” — and so dove forward beneath her arcing blade, trying to knock the elf off her feet. With her quick speed, it was futile; Cwelanas lightly sprang to the side at the last instant, Teldin’s fingers barely brushing her thigh. The cutlass swished through the air behind him, carving out a slice of air.
Teldin sprawled on the deck, then rolled as quickly as he could. Cwelanas wheeled to face him. Her face was flushed red, eyes wide and wild. “To the Abyss with the laws of hospitality,” she muttered.
Teldin’s hand found his spear resting near the rail. Frantically the farmer got one hand on the shaft and swung the weapon up just in time to block her lunge. The elfs cutlass skittered off the haft, shaving the wood as it did so and almost knocking the spear from Teldin’s grip. With a solid thunk, Cwelanas’s blade wedged into the ship’s railing. She tugged at the sword, but it was stuck fast. Teldin, still on his back, kicked hard with his legs and caught the elf full in the side. She crashed to the deck with a startled grunt, hardly expecting the human to transform their fight into a brawl. The fall wrenched the cutlass free.
Once on his feet, Teldin cautiously backed away from the bloodthirsty elf, keeping his spear up and ready, as Gomja had taught. A cloth flapped at Teldin’s back, and he realized his bizarre cloak had grown of its own accord, transforming itself from the small collar he normally wore.
At the start of the fight, the crew members had politely ignored the pair, until steel had flashed. Now they were gathering at a safe distance, uncertain of just what to do. Someone had already gone for the captain, while Galwylin hurried to fetch Gomja.